


My Favorite Fixation

by reg_slivko



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Sex, Denial of Feelings, Emotionally Repressed, Geralt is Definitely Straight you guys, Jaskier is a bi slut (aka canon), M/M, Multi, Oblivious Jaskier | Dandelion, Oral Sex, POV First Person, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Frustration, Size Kink, Switch Jaskier | Dandelion, Switching, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, opposite of a slow burn, vers Jaskier, very gay hairbraiding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reg_slivko/pseuds/reg_slivko
Summary: I have a bit of an addiction, but it's also a talent.  And maybe I just want to share my talents with people!  What's so wrong with that?  And maybe sometimes I get to a point where all I can think about is my heterosexual best friend and his enormous... sword.  To be fair, I do see what's wrong with that.(Jaskier offers Geralt the most sacred of gifts, the purest sexual act: the Bro Job™.  Hijinks and shenanigans ensue.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 146
Kudos: 500





	1. An Introduction to the Issue at Hand, a Backroom Rendezvous, and a Most Peculiar Offer that I Made out of Desperation and Certainly Not Latent Emotional Attachment or Romantic Interest

He’s so perfect. He looks like a statue, except he moves, and he talks, and heavens have mercy that  _ voice  _ when he does. He’s essentially the definition of masculinity, which makes him a horrible wingman,  _ plus  _ he’s so oblivious to the fact that he has me wrapped around his finger. He vacillates between behaving as if he barely cares I'm there (or actively hates it), to seemingly getting a kick out of torturing me with his beauty.

Imagine my predicament, have a little sympathy. 

Me, on the other hand… more of a "fake it until you make it" type. I'm no stunner but I make it work, and once I convince someone to join me in bed they never regret it. Why? I have a secret weapon, a sort of fetish or fixation or simply a preference: I love to give oral pleasure to my partners.

Not sure why, but since the day a small-town strumpet made a man out of me all those years ago, I've been obsessed with putting anything in my mouth. I ate that lovely lady raw and she couldn't get enough, let me have a second hour free she was having so much fun. First time I bedded another fellow, that was interesting. I look back on that less fondly, because I wasn't as good at that from the start. But with a little practice I was a whiz, and ever since I’ve been blowing every bloke I could get my hands on. If it's been a while since I've gotten my rocks off, I can even get there just from doing it to someone, they don't even need to touch me (although I do love when they pull my hair, that's a fun one). 

So there I was, waiting in the basement of a less-than-reputable establishment for an old friend who liked to call me "pet" when we got down to it, finding myself thinking back to sharing a bath with Geralt.

See, he was doing that oblivious bit again the other night and saying that men share baths all the time, just an efficiency thing you see. I should've said no, avoided putting myself in a situation that would undoubtedly end poorly. But I was afraid he'd see through it and sense my little crush that had been forming so I acted cool about it. I tried not to look, I really did, but the blasted thing was so big it took up my entire field of view. 

I know he caught me staring, chances are he caught me  _ drooling.  _ It hung between his legs and it looked so heavy that I thought to myself that it looked like it could knock me out if he dropped it on my head. Then I was stuck picturing it near my face. Even soft it would dwarf my features; he could put his balls on my chin and the tip would reach my hairline.

Between the size and the slowed heart rate of a witcher, he must take hours to get hard. And I'd be more patient than I ever had before, I’d work the beast as long as he needed me to. 

I didn't just want to taste it, to feel it, I wanted to conquer it. I imagined that if I could get the whole thing down my throat I should get a commemorative plaque or something.

"Why are you staring?" He had asked, sounding like he was about to win first place in a grumbly-voice contest.

"The prostitute you saw in the last town," I replied, "where's she buried?"

He hadn't even laughed, the bastard. Least he could do is laugh at my jokes, ease the torture that was being so close to his naked form for an hour.

"Hey baby," came the familiar voice of Dominik. I was torn from my memory, and looked up to see him holding an ale and looking back at me with hungry eyes. I wasn't sure what to say but I didn't have to worry much longer because he pulled me towards him by my chin, giving me a kiss that made my knees weak. His kisses were amazing, they were more raw and sexual than some couples' actual sex was. Even knowing that this was  _ that  _ kind of bar, I felt a little exposed knowing all the patrons could see us.

He bit my lips, ran his tongue along my teeth, and pulled his face back until I chased him forward, desperate for more.

"I'm so glad you wrote me that you'd be in town," he whispered into my ear, setting down his cup to run his hands down my body. It felt nice, but I never noticed that his hands were a bit small until now. 

“Wanna go in the back?” He offered coyly. I nodded, but I wished his voice was deeper, more commanding. 

He took me by the hand and led me to a room. It was well-lit but I extinguished a few candles because I thought I would enjoy myself more in the dark this time. There was a rug on the floor, and it looked pretty plush, which was good for what I planned on doing.

I was already on my knees before he’d even finished shutting the door.

“You haven’t changed at all,” he laughed, but he couldn’t judge because he was already working on his trousers. I just waited, watching as he stepped closer; I could only make out his silhouette in the orange candlelight.

As he stepped in front of me he ran his fingers down my cheek, lightly so that it tickled. 

“Look at you, pet,” he whispered as he pulled his cock out and rubbed it against my face. I opened my mouth but he just kept circling the tip along my lips. On the one hand, I love cocks and Dominik had a particularly nice one so I was enjoying it, but on the other, this was boring and I wanted to get to the good part.

I darted my tongue out to lick whatever I could reach, and he shuddered, apparently surprised by that. I love surprising people: personally, I’m not a believer in relaxing blowjobs. If you’re relaxed I’m probably not working very hard. I like to leave my partners gasping and heaving and yelping, otherwise what’s the point?

I gently guided his hand away, grabbing the shaft myself so I could start doing this my way. I knew what Dominik liked, but I didn’t want to give him too much too fast, so I teased him a little with licks and kisses along the head. He groaned a little, but I wasn’t totally sure it was genuine. Sometimes it felt like Dominik was trying to act a certain way, put on a certain face, rather than just reacting to what I did. Maybe I had just gotten used to Geralt’s brutal honesty.

I licked lightly all the way from the base to the end and he bit his lip. I had figured out that he liked watching me do this, maybe even more than he liked the feeling, so I tried to look good, which wasn’t always easy.

After that it was just going through the motions, doing the stuff that I know always works, looking at him all innocent and cute how he liked it. Didn’t take long to get him down my throat, and after that he was a mess, as always.

“Oh, fuck,” he moaned. His hand grabbed the back of my neck, holding my head steady as he started to thrust into my mouth. “Gonna fill that pretty mouth with cum,” he said breathlessly as his fingers snaked into my hair. I hummed contentedly, and I knew that the vibrations from my throat would help him along.

Looking up at him, I suddenly couldn’t get Geralt out of my head. How would he look this lost in pleasure, how would he sound saying such filthy things?

I could feel Dominik’s orgasm just seconds away, his cock flexing in my mouth and his grip in my hair tightening. I moaned, and I let him believe it was for him and not because I was imagining someone else in his position.

As he came he made a sort of ridiculous noise, not at all dignified and with no sense of restraint. Normally it would make me proud, that I reduced somebody to this state, but Geralt was so stoic and cool with me, and now that seemed like so much more fun (even if it was agony, too).

“Show me,” Dominik requested, his movements stuttering to a stop. I pulled my mouth off of him and opened it, letting a bit of his seed roll down my cheek.

“Fuck, you look so pretty, pet,” he cooed, and I took a moment to swallow it.

He guided me to stand up, and pulled me into a bruising kiss. I didn’t even realize we were moving towards the bed until I fell onto it, his legs straddling my hips.

I fucked him, and it was great and all, but my mind was elsewhere. He wasn’t even hard, which he didn’t seem to mind since he had already come, but it’s kind of sad to watch a soft dick flop around  _ especially  _ when you’re fucking its owner.

I closed my eyes and did my best to imagine what this would be like if it were Geralt riding me like this, but it was difficult because the idea seemed too ludicrous for my brain to even attempt to conjure. I couldn’t imagine Geralt enjoying himself as much as I would want him to be if I were doing this to him, that’s for sure. Clearly he needed  _ something  _ to help him relax, and fucking women didn’t seem to work since he did that a lot and was still grumpy all the time. Sometimes when I’m in a bad mood, I just need to be fucked; I can only dream Geralt would need the same. Maybe a good dicking would knock the stick out of his ass.

~

“You’re tense,” I observed, “more than usual, that is.”

Geralt just grunted. Seriously, who thinks grunting is an acceptable response in a conversation?

“Something wrong? Wanna talk about it? Wanna have a best-buddies emotional gushing session?”

He didn’t even grunt that time, just total ignorance. 

“Or I could play my latest song for you,” I threatened, picking up my lute.

“No!” he bellowed.

“So, let’s chat!” I countered, plopping down next to him on his bed. He just stared at me, finally letting out a little sigh.

“It’s been a long week,” he mumbled.

“That’s it? It’s been a long week? You only killed two monsters, that’s kind of a light week for you!” I objected.

“I wasn’t talking about hunting,” he explained.

“Haven’t been sleeping well?” I prompted.

“No- well, in a way,” he shrugged.

“Damn it, Geralt, just tell me! I promise not to write anything about it,” I lied.

He was quiet for a long time, but I thought maybe uncomfortable silence would be a good motivator. Sadly, I get uncomfortable with silence a lot faster than he does.

“Do you remember that bath we had a few days ago?” he said suddenly.

Oh gods, here it comes. He’s going to tell me that he knows I’ve been thinking about his cock for 3 days straight (or, not so straight) and that it, unsurprisingly, makes him uncomfortable.

“You mentioned a prostitute I had seen, about a week before that?” he continued. I just nodded, but he wasn’t looking at me.

“Well, that was the last time that I…” he trailed off. 

“Hm?” I asked quietly.

“Since then, I haven’t…” he trailed off again.

“Come again?”

“I suppose that is a normal time frame for a man, but witcher sensibilities are different, and I am… just a little frustrated, that’s all,” he opined.

“Oh,” I said, trying not to sound as interested as I was, “sorry to hear that.”

He just “hmm”ed in response, keeping his gaze tied to the fire.

“I could help you,” I blurted out. I swear I didn’t mean to say it, I didn’t even mean to think it but there it was, spilling out of my mouth. 

“What, do you know any decent brothels around here?” he asked, sounding like he was trying to make fun of me, but I was in too deep to play it off. And of course, part of me was hoping he was desperate enough. 

“No, I mean,” I began, but I nervously started over. “You mentioned how men bathe together and it’s normal, just a more efficient way for travelling partners to operate.”

He nodded, but his expression seemed a little different, like he knew where I was going with this.

“Men help each other out, sometimes,” I said, my voice sounding way more shaky and high-pitched than it did in my head.

He looked at me, and his face was so stoic (what else is new) but his eyes… anger? Confusion? I was at a loss. Either way, they were piercing into me. Can witchers read thoughts? I suddenly couldn’t remember.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” he stated plainly after a pause. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Did that mean he didn’t want me to do it? Or just that he didn’t want to ask me to do it? Is there even a meaningful difference?

“It’s no trouble,” I said, instantly regretting to phrase it like that. “I mean, it’s not  _ fun  _ or anything but hey, it’s a favor among… friends?” 

He looked at me and his expression looked a little softer, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but I would personally describe it as curious. That’s good for me.

“Let me help you,” I pleaded, like a grovelling little shit. 

He looked away, and I thought he was just going to ignore me, but then he started to reach for his trousers.

My eyes went wide, my heart started racing, my mouth watered and my dick got hard. It was a really intense moment.

I didn’t want to leave him waiting- or maybe it was my own impatience- but I reached to grab it instantly, barely even letting him get it out before I wrapped my hand around it. It barely fit, that’s the amazing thing; he was already hard, that’s the miracle.

He didn’t look at me, but he watched my hand moving across the shaft. 

Despite my nervousness causing some hand-claminess, I knew that this wasn’t going to feel very good without some salve to lubricate everything. I had some in my bag, but of course there was something much more convenient available.

I slid down off the log, positioning myself between his legs. He made a little noise, and I suspected he hadn’t realized this was on the table. I looked up at him and he was looking at me, his mouth open slightly and looking a little shocked.

“This will feel good,” I promised quietly. He didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes. 

I could look at it forever but I had other plans. I didn’t want to tease him or show how much I was savoring all of this, so I pretty much just went for it: gripping the base, I wrapped my mouth around the head. I would look up to him for a reaction, but with the angle of him sitting up, I couldn’t without stopping and there was no chance of that. 

Just the tip was enough to fill most of my mouth. What a fucking feeling. I was afraid my jaw would pop off trying to fit him, and it would all be totally worth it.

It tasted the way he smelled: musky, piney, a tad sweaty. The skin was so soft against my tongue, and I could tell he was getting even harder as the foreskin began to pull away. 

I sunk lower onto it, starting to push it towards my throat. I knew how to get it down, but I needed to warm up a bit: obviously I wanted more than anything to just go for it, but I knew that wouldn’t work. Each time I pulled back, using my hand to massage the remaining length (which was a  _ lot _ ), I sucked a little harder on the head- if he was anything like me, that was where he was most sensitive. Each time I went back down, I took him a little deeper. I tried to not be too amazing, lest he realize that I do this all the time and it’s definitely not typical heterosexual behavior, but I can’t help that I’m so talented! 

He was barely making any sound, and I was almost worried he had passed out from all the blood in his brain rushing to his dick. All I could hear was his breathing, which did seem heavier than usual. I popped my mouth off of him to give myself a quick break, and looked over to see his hand clenched into a tight fist. Good to know I was having  _ some  _ impact, unless that was just his regular angstiness.

I got back to it quickly, and I was already about halfway down his length. I felt like a champion just from that, but of course I also felt outrageously horny with no hope of resolve. I could just imagine how incredible it would sound if he moaned for me, so I decided to put in my best effort to make it happen.

In one swift motion, I swallowed him down to the base. I was confident nothing had ever been so deep in my throat before, and even as my eyes watered from choking on it, I was in awe of it. I heard him hiss, just a little, so I pulled all the way off just to dive back in again. Now there was a proper gasp, and it was quiet but it was the most important thing I’d ever heard. I kept taking him as deep as I could, finding a pattern where I could breath often enough to keep a consistent pace. 

It wasn’t too long until I could feel that he was close, as his length started to flex and pulse against my tongue. This was always the best part, my real chance to shine. I bobbed enthusiastically, focusing more on speed than precision. His breathing was quicker, more shallow, and I wished I could see his face when he was this close to orgasm.

There was an urgency in the air, almost a stressfulness: he was holding himself back, and I knew he wanted to let go- of course I wanted him to let go as well, I wanted so badly to taste him.

All of a sudden, Geralt grabbed my forehead and pushed me off of him. At the same instant he came, and instead of tasting it I was just sitting there watching his cock bob as he pumped onto the floor and himself. I looked up to his face, which was scrunched up in a sort of reluctant, almost embarrassed pleasure. To be expected from a big tough straight guy who just came all over the floorboards of an inn room because a man sucked his dick.

When he was done, he opened his eyes slowly and looked at me. My mouth was still open, and if I had to guess, I wasn’t hiding my enjoyment as well as I was supposed to. His hand fell away, so I leaned back onto my heels and wiped my mouth. It was a long silence.

“I didn’t want to make you-” Geralt began, but then he switched halfway through: “sorry if I hurt you.”

“No, it’s fine,” I replied, my voice sounding a bit odd considering my throat had just gotten the beating of a lifetime.

“Thank you,” he mumbled gruffly as he refastened his trousers.

“Hope it took the edge off,” I shrugged, starting to stand up to go back to my bed for the night.

“Wait,” he interjected, grabbing at my wrist. I turned back to him.

“Shouldn’t I return the favour?” he offered quietly. His hand began to move towards my groin and of course I wanted him to touch me, more than anything I’d wanted in a long time.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s late,” I justified, moving his hand away. “Just get some rest, alright?”

“All right,” he grumbled, laying back on the bed.

I would definitely be thinking about how wonderful it would’ve been if I let him jerk me off, in addition to the way he looked at me when he offered to, but I couldn’t have him do that. He would’ve noticed that I was already flamboyantly hard just from sucking him, and he  _ definitely  _ would’ve noticed when I came in about two seconds.


	2. A Distracted Interaction with a New Friend I Made in a Pub, A Very Successful Party, and my Most Confusing Orgasm to Date

“Yes, yes, oh _fuck_ YES!” I moaned, throwing my head back into the pillow.

This guy- I already forgot his name… I wanna say… Peter? Anyhow, he wasn’t talkative, so he didn’t respond, but damn, he was good. He had demanded that I stop blowing him way sooner than I intended to, because he said he wouldn’t be able to fuck me if he came. Who am I to say no to that? And I was certainly glad I didn’t, because he was hitting that spot inside me and fervently jerking me off and it was just the right amount of too much.   
In spite of all of that, though, I still couldn’t keep my attention in the moment. My mind wandered through memories and ideas of Geralt, and that stupidly unforgettable cock. It was weird to call it that because ‘cock’ is a term for a rooster and that wasn’t really the animal I thought of when I thought of him. Based on size alone, maybe a horse would be more appropriate, or a sea serpent.

That was a strange thought to have in my head as I came, but I wasn’t exactly mad about it.

Peter (maybe?) followed suit soon after, allowing only a small moan to escape as he spilled inside of me.

"Thanks for coming by," he said as he used a rag to wipe my cum off of my stomach.

"Was that a play on words?" I asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"No."

"Oh."

Turns out he wasn't fun when he wasn't fucking so I left as soon as I could. Not that he was exactly begging me to stay.

I wasn't in a hurry on the walk back to our temporary lodging, though; I had been avoiding Geralt lately, and I don’t think I was making it very subtle, either. It wasn’t that I was embarrassed about what had happened, though I can’t deny I had fears about how he saw me after it. He acted the same as always, so I assumed he hadn’t been thinking about it as much as I had. He certainly hadn’t had any problems with dry spells since then, having already had a few trysts with prostitutes in the week that had passed.

I wasn't sure why everybody was always saying not to get sex involved with friends. We both seemed to be handling it decently well. However, it had only happened because I had convinced him it was normal, so that lie probably made the whole thing a lot easier for him to stomach. In retrospect it was a little absurd that he even bought it. I mean, the guy was stranded in an all-male school with witchers adjusting to their newfound mutant libidos…

I literally had to stop walking to process that thought. None of it added up: if any straight guys were going to bang each other, wouldn't it be witchers? So, if they hadn't, why did Geraly believe my bullshitting about it? And if they had, well, that mental image should've been sexy as hell but it just made me angry. I guess I'd grown sort of attached to the idea of being his first male experience. Stuff like that had never really mattered to me before. But then again, nobody had ever really mattered to me before the way Geralt did…

Nope, can’t entertain that line of thought. Much too dangerous.

~

“You aren’t going to do anything interesting with your hair?”

“Nope,” Geralt grumbled.

“Don’t you think that would be more suitable for attending a party?” I pressed.

“I didn’t want to go to this party, so I don’t anticipate going out of my way to fit in,” he explained.

“Yes, but we’re there for a client, and maybe they would appreciate it more if you actually put some effort into it.”

“And if they appreciate it more, they might pay more?” 

“Now you’re getting it,” I smiled.

“What is there to do with my hair anyways?” he asked, turning to look at himself in the nearby mirror. I stepped behind him, and he flinched just a little when I touched him.

“A ponytail?” I suggested, pulling his hair back to show him how it would look from the front.

“Hmm.”

“Or little braids, like this,” I demonstrated, pulling a few strands back but letting the rest hang loosely onto his shoulders.

“I don’t know how to braid,” he frowned.

“I’ll braid it for you,” I offered.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course,” I shrugged. You know, for a guy who had been dragging me along on dangerous adventures for years, he was suddenly really concerned about how much he was troubling me for things. I sucked his dick after all, isn’t braiding hair a lot lower stakes than that? But I was trying not to think about that because thinking about that led to thinking about how badly I wanted it to happen again.

He sat down in a chair and I stood behind him, using my fingers to part the locks of hair since I didn’t feel like grabbing a comb. His hair was softer than I had thought: most grey hair was wiry, but I was never sure if he had the grey hair from a Witcher version of “old age” or if it had always been like this. Regardless, it was nice, and easy to work with. My hands were suddenly a bit shaky which made it harder to get perfect detail on the small braids, but I managed to pull it off. I did two from each side of his head, bringing them together in the back. 

“You stick your tongue out when you’re concentrating,” he observed, breaking the silence suddenly.

I wondered why he was looking at my reflection and not his own. Looking at his neck to make sure the hair fell evenly, I noticed that he had little goosebumps even though it wasn’t cold in the room.

“What do you think?” I asked as I turned his head to show him my work.

“Looks nice,” he mumbled as he stood up, “thanks.”

I was wearing something incredibly stylish, of course; Geralt had been convinced to dress nicely but he had a way of looking gruff and calloused even in a really nice outfit. He wanted to leave with "plenty of room for error" but I demanded we wait so that we didn't show up at the exact starting time since that's lame and annoying. 

When we did get there, of course there was a band, so of course I played with them, and of course I killed it as always. 

"I've discussed what I need to with the client, can we go now?" Geralt requested after pulling me aside between songs.

"They love me, I can't abandon my fans," I winked.

"Somehow their lives will go on without you."

I wasn't sure if everyone was cheering for another song or if just two people were, but I don't think those differences really matter. I shrugged and stepped away from Geralt, who pouted a bit before someone pulled him into a conversation.

"You're very talented," someone said behind me. I turned around and what do you know, a beautiful young woman looking mildly intoxicated!

“Thank you, lovely," I smiled back, "but I'm only as good as my current muse."

"And who is that?" She asked coyly.

Why did Geralt's face flash in my mind?

"Well, I just found a new one recently," I replied, letting myself give her a not-so-subtle look up and down. 

"Really?" She giggled. I was sort of shocked that this was working. 

"I saw her across the room, and I hadn't even met her, but her beauty was overpowering."

Her face got a little more serious, her eyes going from wide and curious to half-lidded and dark.

"Do you ever offer private performances?" She asked quietly.

I stepped closer to her, brushing the back of my hand gently against the sleeve of her dress.

"Upon request," I answered in a low voice.

She bit her lip. I quirked an eyebrow. It was pretty obvious.

I looked over at Geralt and almost felt bad about leaving him alone without even a warning, but then she whispered something really filthy in my ear and I suddenly didn’t care so much.

She dragged me back to a wine cellar, and kissed me so hard that I couldn’t focus very well on getting either of our clothes off. 

"I'm Karina, by the way," she said breathlessly as she pulled away for a moment.

"Jaskier, pleasure to make your acquaintance," I replied quickly as I reinitiated the kiss.

She smiled against my lips and I smiled back, and it was _fun_. I was having fun for once, and I could just imagine how much Geralt would hate having fun like this. 

“There’s no door,” I noticed when she finally gave me a chance to speak.

“I know,” she giggled, “no one comes back here. And I don’t want to wait to find a room.”

“Well, then I’d better not keep you waiting any longer,” I replied with a smirk, dropping to my knees. She gasped when I lifted her skirt and poked my head under. Why did dresses have so many layers? It was hot under there, and there was lots of lace and such brushing against my face, but of course right at the center was her lovely little cunt, protected only by a thin layer of adorable panties. I nipped at her through them, letting my teeth graze over the little bud that was just peeking out from between her lips. Her legs shook just a bit at that, but I kept going, pulling the fabric aside with my tongue and plunging into her with it.

“Oh, Jaskier,” she moaned, though I couldn’t hear it that well through all the damn skirts.

I didn’t say anything, because it’s rude to talk with your mouth full, but I did let out a little hum of support. I swirled my tongue over her most sensitive areas (yes, I had already pegged _more than one_ : I came, I saw, I was currently in the process of conquering… and hopefully after that I could come again). Her legs quivered again and I ran my hands up them slowly, taking a detour to feel her magnificent arse. 

“I’m going to fall over,” she laughed breathlessly, her hands grabbing my head through the dress.

I slipped my shoulders behind her knees, and kept my hands braced on her back before knocking her back into my grip. She yelped, but then she laughed. Balancing her weight on my shoulders, I moved her back towards a wall- thankfully one that didn’t display wine bottles cork-out, since they would probably hurt her back. 

Having something to push her back against meant I could apply more pressure, so I did, and she let out another loud moan.

With women, it was harder to tell when they were about to orgasm, at least when I wasn’t inside them to feel the muscles moving and pulsing. Karina, though, she didn’t have any trouble communicating herself: her hands were pulling me closer through the skirt, her legs were kicking wildly, and just in case it wasn’t obvious…  
“I’m so close, yes, don’t stop,” she begged. I nodded, using shorter and faster laps at her clit to keep her climbing up that ladder of pleasure.

I heard the sounds of wine bottles clanking as she grabbed at the shelves behind her. She was so loud until all of a sudden she got really quiet, and held her breath. Her taste became more potent as her body quaked. If I was feeling nice I would’ve given her a break, let her calm down a bit, but instead I kept going, pushing her harder and faster. She got loud again, almost screaming, speaking a constant stream of semi-coherent blasphemy. I figured I could get her to come again, but she had other plans. She pushed me back with her feet, and as I fell back from under her skirt, I saw her face for the first time in a while: her hair was wilder than before, her face red and her expression hungry. She crawled towards me and straddled my legs with hers, reaching down to make quick work of my trousers. We were laughing but it was darker than before, her desperation being so strong that it made her forceful, almost in an angry way. But a good angry. It was hard to describe. 

She grabbed my member with enough aggression to get a little squeak out of me, and she quickly guided it to her entrance and slid down. She was outrageously wet, my spit mixing with her arousal to make everything all slippery and hot. Relief washed over her face, and she let her eyes flutter shut. 

I wasn't sure I had ever had sex like this before: on the floor of a wine cellar, fully clothed, laying back against a shelf with a bird grinding herself on me. So far, I was a fan. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her on and off of me to help her with some of the effort. She moaned, her head falling back, and I took the opportunity to kiss along her bared neck and shoulder and collarbone.

I don’t know what compelled me to look up at that moment, you’d think I would’ve been satisfied with the view I was getting, but I did. And at that exact moment, Geralt stepped into the archway. I had no idea how he was so silent, but there he was, just… standing there. Instantly I froze: my lips were still against her skin, and my arms were still around her, but neither of them were doing anything.

“Oh, don’t stop,” she moaned, her hands weaving into my hair. I figured he would say something, but he didn’t, he simply crossed his arms and leaned against the stone. His expression was plain, perhaps a little contemptuous or maybe even _bored_ but overall simply unreadable. I was suddenly very thankful that we were dressed, that he couldn’t see anything underneath Karina’s giant dress.

He gave me the tiniest nod, as if to say _the woman said not to stop, don’t keep her waiting_. Why the fuck he would say that, I haven’t the foggiest. But he looked at me like he was expecting something and before I really had a chance to process how insane this all was, I did what she had asked of me and continued to pull her closer, lifting my hips up to meet her halfway with my thrusts.

“Yes, gods, yes,” she announced her approval, the hands in my hair pulling a bit as I resumed kissing along any exposed skin I could find.

Geralt was staring right through me, and I couldn’t find the strength to break eye contact with him. Even as she pulled me into a kiss, I kept opening my eyes to look at him again, though I didn’t know what I was looking for.

I wanted to stop her and push her off of me, at least let her know that there was someone watching us since she probably would want to know that, but any words caught in my throat, and it apparently would take more willpower than I had to interrupt her while she was doing this.

Karina’s moans faded into the background and I could’ve sworn the room of silent, her noises lost somewhere in the back of my mind. All I could see was Geralt and his golden eyes piercing through me and his jaw clenching as he watched this all unfold. 

Just as unexpectedly as Geralt snuck up on me, so did my orgasm. Out of nowhere I was choking out an embarrassing noise and spilling inside her. 

I wondered if he would laugh at me, or look at me with disappointment or confusion or judgment… but he just turned back around the corner and walked away.

“Did you seriously just come?” Karina asked accusingly. I turned back to her, but it didn’t last long because her slap turned my face away again.

“Ow!” I yelped.

“Did you seriously just come inside me? What the fuck?! You were supposed to pull out! You asshole!” She berated me as she stood up, adjusting her dress as if it would hide the obviously-disheveled appearance.

“I- uh-” I started to apologize but it just stuttered into noises. She stormed off before I could finish anyways.

And now I was alone on the floor with my dick out and no idea what the fuck had just happened. It might have been the strangest party I had ever been to.


	3. Three Very Radically Different Conversations with a Horse, A Lover, and a Witcher

First order of business, get my dick back in my trousers.

Second order of business, figure out if it was making eye contact with Geralt that made me… spontaneously combust, so to speak.

First thing didn’t take too long, the second one was painfully and obviously true. 

Third order of business, decide what to do about the fact that getting an icy glare from Geralt did more for me than the actual sex with a woman had.

Why couldn’t that be as easy as the first two? Why couldn’t I just drop dead in this wine cellar and save everyone the trouble?

I navigated my way outside, deciding to wait beside the horses. I pet Roach for a bit, something Geralt didn't let me do much when he was around. 

"You deserve a better name," I told her. She totally agreed. It made me think about my own name: sometimes I didn't like the whole Dandelion, Buttercup stuff. It was a nickname that stuck, and sometimes it was nice to be able to separate that part of myself from the rest of me, but other times I missed being Julian. Jaskier had become like a mask in some ways, a shell that protected me. I could step into Jaskier and be confident and cheery and no one could really hurt me because none of them really knew me.

"Should I get a new name?" I asked her. "It's just that sometimes Jaskier feels like a stage persona- maybe I've outgrown it."

Roach snorted a little.

"I know, I know, I've made quite a name for myself with it, so I would probably lose some notoriety, but perhaps the time has come to just be Julian,” I explained.

“You left your lute in the banquet hall.”

I jumped when I heard Geralt’s voice. I turned to see him holding my lute out to me as he approached.

“I grabbed it for you,” he continued.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. Damn witchers and their stealth, how can a guy this big be so quiet?

Halfway through the silent trek back to our inn room, he randomly broke the silence.

“You used to think it was silly that I talked to Roach,” he grumbled.

“It  _ is _ silly,” I said weakly.

“I saw you doing it,” he countered, looking back at me with a little smirk. Interesting choice of words.

“I know,” I frowned, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t silly.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged as he looked back to the path ahead.

It was a long way home, somehow much longer than the trip there. I kept wondering what he was going to say about what he saw, but it by the time we got back and were laying in our beds to go to sleep, I figured we were going the “we shall never speak of this” route we had gone with for the cock-sucking situation.

I managed to sleep alright, but I had some unwanted (yet pleasant) dreams.

~

Maybe it was a bit early for it, but I needed a drink. “Something strong,” I had told the barmaid, and she certainly delivered. It burned my throat and the back of my eyes, but it made all those pesky feelings go away. Feelings could be useful for song-writing, but these days people only wanted fun songs and I wasn’t having any fun feelings.

“You look like you could use some fun,” I heard a voice behind me. I glanced back and saw Dominik, and if I wasn’t drunk I’d have jumped out of my skin. Partially from the surprise of his presence, partially from the surprise of his words.

“What are you doing here?” I asked nervously.

“What is anyone doing here? I’m drinking,” he shrugged, sitting down beside me.

I had never been embarrassed of Dominik or anything like that, but now I felt an anxiety that someone would see us together and think we were a couple or something. 

“You won’t be in town much longer, I assume,” he groaned, seeming a little irritated.

“Does that bother you?” I asked without looking over at him.

He paused for a moment before he answered.

“I suppose I should just be thankful for the time I have you,” he said quietly, and I could tell he was looking at me. His hand trailed lazily down my spine, and I shivered under his touch- in a good way and a bad way simultaneously. What would Geralt think if he saw this? 

“You never ‘had’ me, you just got to have sex with me,” I grumbled, taking a deeper swig of the drink.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he growled.

I didn’t even respond, just scoffing and returning to my drink. The dominating stuff wasn’t going to work outside of the bedroom, and it barely even worked there.

He sighed in resignation, but when I looked over at him, I could see that he was angrier than he wanted me to see.

“Don’t act like I owe you something. You never asked me for anything but a good time,” I recalled.

“That was my first mistake,” he frowned. “The second was never asking you to stay here, with me.”

“You don’t even know me, and I don’t know you.”

“You know me better than most do, that’s for sure,” he smirked, giving me a suggestive look. 

“Don’t throw that back at me. You’re always wearing a mask- even now, you want me to think you’re more composed than you really are. You need to start being honest with yourself, then try being honest with me,” I quipped.

Instantly I was knocked out of my chair, and his fist was holding me up by my collar.

I heard the barmaid yelling at us, the sounds of general commotion, but it was all faded into the background in my drunken mind.

“You wouldn’t know honest if it hit you in the face,” he snarled. “You’re a fucking joke.”

“Bet you’d still let me fuck you if I took you to my room right now,” I smiled. That one was definitely the alcohol talking, and yet it was  _ my  _ face that took the punch. Right in the nose, made my whole face burn. I didn’t even realize there was blood pouring from my nostrils because my face was already so warm.

I was never really an angry person, and even this didn’t make me angry with Dominik. But I felt so much hate, vitriol even, burning me up from the inside out. 

“Hit me again,” I whispered, “I know you want to.”

He dropped me onto the ground, and my back got wet from falling into the puddle of my spilled drink. He kicked me in the stomach, and in that moment I knew that the hate I felt was only for myself. Undefined, unspecific, but a part of myself that I had successfully hidden away for a long time was rearing its ugly head.

Even writhing on the floor in pain I was laughing. If it was funny it couldn’t hurt. If I was laughing then it was all a joke, if it was a joke then it wasn’t serious, if it wasn’t serious then it didn’t matter, and if it didn’t matter then it didn’t make me cry. If it didn’t matter, if Dominik didn’t matter, then I wasn’t a whore getting beat up in the middle of the day on the dirty ground of a dirty pub in a dirty backwater town.

I noticed that the kicks and stomps had stopped, and when I opened my eyes, Dominik was running away, chased across the room by Geralt. I didn’t notice his arrival- I didn’t even know that he knew I was here- but I probably had never been so glad  _ and  _ so upset to see him. This was the last condition I wanted him to see me in, and Dominik was the last person I wanted him to meet.

Geralt pushed him against the wall, holding him up by his neck. I heard them speaking to each other but it was all fading away, and my vision was getting spotty, and everything collapsed in on itself before I could even recognize that it was happening.

~

My sleep was tumultuous, certainly not restful. Yet when I wanted to wake up, my eyelids felt unreasonably heavy, and I had to fight my body to look around the room.

“Are you awake?” I heard Geralt’s voice from across the room. He rushed to the bedside, scanning my face.

“Trying to be,” I said weakly, my voice scratchy and gross. I cleared my throat but it hurt.

“Relax,” he soothed, “you took some pretty bad hits.”

“I’ve taken worse,” I croaked.

His face indicated that he didn’t like to hear that. He almost looked guilty, for some reason.

“What did you do to upset him so much?” he asked quietly. I swallowed, and once again, it hurt.

“Drunken shit-talking, went further than I meant for it to,” I bluffed.

He seemed unsatisfied with that response.

“Why? Did- did he say something to you?” I asked hesitantly.

“Of course he did: I was giving you a chance to be honest,” he sighed, standing up from the bed, “I wish you had taken it.”

And I was almost ready to let him walk away at that moment.

"He's my lover," I choked out, a pit sinking in my stomach, "my former lover, that is."

"Hm," was Geralt's only response.

"He wanted me to-" I stopped myself before I finished, even in my moment of honesty not ready to talk about that aspect. "To do something I didn't want to do," I finished.

"I'm glad you're alright," he stated plainly before making a beeline for the door, leaving me alone suddenly.

Sleep took me, against my will, rather quickly once there was no one nearby to talk to.

~

Although I had a hard time keeping track of how many days had passed, being in and out of sleep while recovering from my beating, I could still tell that it had been far too long for us to have not talked about anything that had happened. Not the blowjob, not the spying incident at the party, not the violent encounter with Dominik… none of it apparently worth discussing. Not much else was, either; he had been very quiet in general.

It was pitch black in the room when I awoke.

"Jaskier," I heard Geralt whisper sharply from just beside my bed. I sat up, confused but trying to be alert for danger.

"Geralt? Is everything alright?" I replied, whispering as well. No response.

"Geralt?" I called again.

"Go back to sleep," he finally answered after a moment, and I heard the sounds of his clothes rustling and the floorboards creaking as he started to walk back to his bed.

"Wait," I demanded, and I heard him stop. "Why did you wake me?"

"It's nothing. I'm sorry. You need to rest."

Maybe it was my sleep-addled mind, or wishful thinking, but I sensed what this was really about.

"Come back," I requested weakly. I heard that he was moving again, I could hear that he was close to me now. His breathing was heavy, but slow. With him standing and me sitting up in my bed, I knew that what I wanted was right in front of me…

Reaching out into the darkness, my hands landed on his hips, protected only by the thin fabric of his bedclothes. I heard him gasp a little, but I guided him closer, his footsteps so heavy on the ground with his weight.

Finding his cock was easy: it's a large target. I ran my hand along the length, admiring how hard he already was. 

I wasted no time getting it out, hoping to get this all settled before he came to his senses. I was salivating in anticipation of his taste, the weight of him against my tongue. I hoped that he would let me swallow it this time, because it was the middle of the night and my whole body was crying out for him and I didn't care anymore about if he thought I was a fag or a whore because he had probably figured out that I was both and I was just feeling very thankful that he still wanted me at all. Even if it was just about using me, I wanted him to, I deserved it. This was the least I could do after all he had done for me.

I took him down in one fluid motion, so desperate for him that I couldn't even find the energy to warm up to it. I choked a little, but I stayed strong, not relenting until I absolutely needed to breathe.

I could hear his groans, ever so quiet. I wanted him to let go, to make whatever sounds he wanted to, to say something to me. Hopeful to get a reaction, I explored the edge of his foreskin with my tongue, even gently pushing under it a few times. Instead of making a louder noise, his hand gripped my hair. I expected him to push me down, to end the teasing by force, but he didn't. I did it for him, but slowly, my lips memorizing every detail of the shape of him as I made my way to the base. 

I was glad I couldn't talk with a dick in my mouth, because I knew I would regret all the things I would say if I could. I wanted to beg for him to come down my throat, I wanted to tell him about how I had dreamed of this and how I needed him in more ways than I was comfortable with. 

Pulling off of him to breathe and to stroke him with my hand, instead all that emerged from my mouth was the smallest moan.

Knowing he couldn't see me, I rutted myself against the mattress, finally bringing sensation to my neglected, leaking cock. The next morning I would realize that he probably could see me even in complete darkness because of his witcher senses, but at the time I was too tired and horny to remember.

I went at it with everything I had, hoping to get the most out of this while I could in case I had to wait so long for it to happen again, like I had last time. 

The hand in my hair balled into a fist, pulling my it in a painful but wonderful way. 

My eyes were burning but it wasn’t because of the strain on my throat for once. I could cry simply from how desperately I needed him in that moment, feeling completely vulnerable and exposed. Instead of crying, though, I swallowed him as deep as I could, burying my face into his stomach.

I knew he was close only from the way he was beginning to quiver, and I grabbed his hips as if I was strong enough to stop him from pulling out. Thankfully he stayed still, let me keep bobbing on him even as he began to flex inside my mouth. I lacked the strength to stop myself from moaning, the closest I could get at the time to begging him to come. 

Apparently it was enough: I heard him growl ever so quietly, his fist pulling on my hair one last time, as I tasted him spilling onto my tongue.

A tear rolled down my cheek.

I continued to stroke him as he came, though I did so gently so as not to overstimulate him. 

I’m not one of those people who pretends to inherently enjoy the taste of semen. It’s sort of gross, though mostly just bland. Anyone who acts like it’s delicious needs to manage their priorities, it’s no cake or anything. That said, I loved tasting him: not for the taste but for him. I waited until he was done to start swallowing it, which took a while because there was a lot. It made my knees weak, so I was thankful to be sitting on the bed.

I pulled my mouth off of him, even though I could’ve just sat there forever. For a moment I had no idea what he would do, though the most likely option seemed to be that he would walk back to his own bed. Instead, I felt a hand push me back gently, and I laid back on the bed. His hand which had been gripping my hair let go, snaking down my chest and stomach. I whimpered as it approached my groin, and I felt the bed dip and shift as he laid next to me. He was so warm, hot even, and I hadn’t even noticed until then that I was cold. I felt his breathing on my cheek and even with him just centimetres away from my face I couldn’t see him, though I longed to. Instead I closed my eyes, trying to hold back as his fingers lightly traced the outline of my erection which was straining against my trousers. I swallowed, summoning all the restraint I could, but when his fingers grazed over the head I bucked into his touch. I was embarrassed but it got the message across, his hand palming more earnestly at me and cupping my balls which made me want to squirm, though I resisted. He reached up to push my clothes away and I let out another choked noise of shock. 

Half my brain was screaming  _ yes yes yes  _ and the other  _ no no no  _ because I knew I couldn’t last long, already I was having to bite my lip quite forcefully to aid in the efforts of holding back my orgasm. I wanted this to happen, but I wanted it to last and I didn’t want him to know that it was everything I wanted. 

His hand wrapped around my cock and my back arched against his chest. I wanted to wrap my arms around him to brace myself but I settled for grasping at the sheets. His hands were about as callous as I expected, but his touch was anything but rough. He stroked me slowly and my whole body was shaking from holding myself back for so long. I was hoping he would go easier on me but nope, he immediately picked up his pace. I was slick from being hard all this time and it made everything slippery and I was getting light-headed. Once again he took this as a signal to make the torture even worse, tightening his grip around me. I couldn’t even tell if this was actually an objectively good handjob or if I was just a desperate, horny bastard.

Little moans were escaping from my lips, and I felt myself thrusting into his grasp. His thumb massaged my head and that was it, I was done for.

“Geralt!” I yelped before I could stop myself. I was sure I had never had an orgasm quite like this one before, and I became very aware of how long it took me to finish. I swear I was pumping into his hand, panting my stomach with cum, for an hour.

When it finally ended he delicately pulled his hand away, and I was still catching my breath when he got up off of the bed.

I wanted to say so much, ask so many questions, but no words formed. I heard his footsteps cross the room and his bed creak as he laid in it.

And now I was alone in my bed with my dick out and no idea what the fuck had just happened. Why was this how things always ended with him lately?


	4. Basically Just Several Incidents of Geralt Being Completely Unpredictable, plus I Meet my Biggest Fan (No, it's Not Geralt- He's my Second Biggest Fan.  Though He is my Largest Fan.)

I don’t think I’ve ever woken up so confused in my life. 

Do you know that moment where, when you first wake up, you don’t really remember the difference between reality and your most recent dream? Yeah, imagine that lasting for about an hour. At first I thought it was a dream because I had already had so many dreams of very similar things happening. Then I thought it was real because I felt the dried semen on my stomach (by the way, ew). Then I switched back to thinking it was a dream because sometimes dreams cause that reaction, and also I couldn’t even remember seeing anything. Then I looked over at Geralt’s sleeping form and knew that either it was real, or I really, really wanted it to be. If my sex dreams were actually that good, I never would’ve even needed to have sex in real life!

The bad news was that I couldn’t even try to convince myself that I would be satisfied with this situation. If this was ever going to happen again on Geralt’s schedule it would probably be a lot longer of a dry spell than it would be on _my_ preferred schedule, during which he’d be working on filling out his punchcard at the local brothel so that he could get his tenth visit free.

I needed to talk to him about it and I was not looking forward to it because I was so confident in how it would end. “It was a mistake, Jaskier, it shouldn’t have happened and it won’t happen again,” I could so easily picture him saying.

“We should do that more often,” he told me when I started the ‘about last night’ conversation over lunch.

“I- what?!” I hoarsely replied.

“Did you not enjoy it?” he asked as if it was possible to not enjoy.

“Did I enjoy- of course I did,” I stuttered, “who doesn’t like getting off?”

I elected not to mention that I enjoyed it more than I usually enjoyed getting off, didn’t seem necessary to add at the time.

“Hmm, fair,” he grumbled back, taking a thoughtful sip of his drink.

I’ll admit that I’m not usually at a loss for words. This was, in a sense, the best case scenario, and of course I was happy to hear this wasn’t the end of a very strange and wonderful phase in my relationship with Geralt. And yet, something in me sunk when I heard him say that. Maybe it was because I had prepared myself so thoroughly for this being the end that I hadn’t prepared for the immense pressure that came with knowing this could (in fact, probably would) keep happening and that I would have to continue doing whatever it was that made Geralt want to keep doing it. Being good at blowjobs? That’s easy, couldn’t stop doing that if I tried. But did he find me attractive, or just useful? How could I continue being attractive to him, if that was a factor? Maybe it was because I was afraid that _all_ he wanted was clandestine midnight encounters, which was all I thought I wanted right up until he said that it was all he wanted.

But, I figured I should be thankful for what I was getting and not get greedy, even as I suppressed the realization that I couldn’t just choose to not fall for him.

~

Life was starting to feel like things that happened to me while I waited for Geralt to initiate another midnight manly-man mutual masturbatory meeting. He had said we should do it more often but then somewhere between two and a hundred-thousand weeks had passed and nothing had happened. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but also I didn’t want to be unprepared if it happened. This led to a constant sense of unease that I tried to mask each day. 

It wasn’t that I had tried to stay away from other conquests necessarily, it’s just that masking the unease is a full-time job and I was lacking in the time and confidence needed to acquire one. 

Thankfully, one of the fringe benefits of being sexually interested in men is that their directness and horniness can almost always be relied upon.

“You’re very talented,” a man’s voice came from behind me as I sat down after the end of my set. I turned around with the intention of taking the compliment at face value, but then I saw the look on his face. He looked the way I imagine myself looking when I’m trying to talk someone into bed. Damn, I hope I actually do look as good as he did right then. 

“Always nice to hear,” I smiled back, trying to look flirty without laying it on _too_ heavy.

“Could say the same for you,” he countered, setting down his drink and sitting down next to me. He had these gorgeous brown eyes that I tried not to stare into, but they were staring right at mine so it was difficult.

“H-have you heard me before?” I asked, internally shaming myself for sounding so nervous.

“Once, about a month back,” he recalled.

“What’d you think then?” I questioned.

He leaned in, giving me a thoughtful look.

“I thought: ‘I’m going to come here every night until that bard plays again,’” he explained, his tongue darting out for a moment to lick his lips.

I swallowed dryly, letting my gaze search his body- it liked what it was finding!

“Was it worth your commitment to hear me again?” I pressed, not even stopping my perusal of his form to ask the question.

“Darling,” he purred, “it was worth it just to _see_ you again.”

And to think Geralt had mocked me for taking so long to choose an outfit before my performance. 

“Wanna see me one more time? Tonight?” I offered, starting to reach forward to run my hand along his thigh.

Something stopped me though, a strong grip pulling me back. I looked behind me to see Geralt looking a bit agitated.

“He’s busy tonight,” was all he said as he pulled me away from the table and my newfound favourite bar patron.

I was stumbling through my attempt to ask Geralt what the fuck he was doing when I was taken around a quieter corner and pushed against the wall.

“Why do you act like that?” he growled at me. I didn’t know what he was even talking about, but he pushed his fist into my chest a bit. “Why do you… talk like that?” he continued his interrogation. He didn’t seem like he knew what he was talking about either.

“I was just having a conversation-” I began to defend.

“You were fucking him with your eyes,” he hissed. His teeth were bared, his eyes were wide, and I tried to not see it as attractive but I couldn't really help that.

“That’s… not how fucking works,” I mumbled sheepishly. Of course I assumed it was a figure of speech but my instincts told me to make a joke in this very tense and serious moment.

I got mostly the reaction I wanted, as he let me go and I was able to relax against the wall. 

“I just-” he began, but then let out a sigh.

“What’s going on?” I asked tenderly, wanting to reach out to touch him but resisting it.

“I wish you considered my feelings before you did things like that,” he grumbled.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. He wasn’t looking at me, just staring off into space.

“I wish you would consider- I wish you were more considerate,” he decided as he walked away.

I reached out for him this time, and my fingers brushed against his arm, but he didn’t stop. I wished that I had the courage to call out to him but we were in the middle of this pub and in the middle of the day…

Of course, I had just had the courage to flirt with a stranger in the middle of this pub in the middle of the day. I should’ve been willing to talk it out with him, but it was a bit too late by the time I realized that. 

~

“About this afternoon,” I began.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbled before I could even finish, unloading his pack from Roach’s saddle to take into the inn for the night.

“Not that I don’t believe you’d toss me around in a pub for nothing, because I do, but I don’t believe this is nothing,” I quipped.

He just groaned and walked past me, leaving me to follow him like a lost puppy- which I hated to do but seemed to have done a lot.

“I just think you’d feel better if you talked about it,” I suggested as I set my things down on my bed.

“I already talked to Roach about it.”

“You really think that’s an appropriate solution,” 

“I got a second opinion! By the way, she agrees with me: you’re an arsehole,” he smirked.

“You are insufferable, really. Would this conversation be easier for you to have in public? Because now that we’re alone suddenly you’re an iceberg.”

He got more serious, turning to face me and raising his voice.

“You have no idea what it’s like. To be forced to watch you make eyes at strangers. To watch you degrade the very concepts of intimacy and dignity by plummeting yourself into some tart in a wine cellar-” 

“Watching that was _very_ optional,” I interjected, but he didn’t stop.

“To watch you run around with anyone who gives you even a crumb of attention. Fuck, it’s like you’re torturing me sometimes,” he exclaimed.

“You know, do you figure maybe my personal life- my love life- has nothing to do with you?”

“Do you figure that’s the problem?”

I paused for a moment at that, but anger returned quickly.

“Who are you to question who I spend my time with? At least _I_ don’t pay for it,” I snarled.

He pushed me back against the wall, just one strong hand pinning me down by my chest. Not even for a moment did I think to be afraid of him. It’s just Geralt, what’s he gonna do to me? 

Then I felt my dick hardening against all common sense, pressing into his thigh. That made me a little more fearful. I looked up at him with wide eyes, and he looked back at me with a storm of emotions brewing in his eyes.

“Are… are you hard?” he asked quietly. I winced.

“Only a bit,” I defended.

“From this?”

“Apparently.”

He rubbed his thigh against me, just a little, but enough to send arousal shooting through me. I choked on a moan.

The hand on my chest began to move down, and I tried to keep my breathing from quickening too noticeably. Yet, as his touch sank lower, my attempts to stay calm were in vain as I knew he could feel that I was achingly hard against him now.

He reached into my trousers, not even breaking eye contact as he grabbed my length and stroked it. As he looked into my eyes, I felt entirely exposed, more than maybe I’d ever been. He was looking straight through me and as much as it filled me with fear, I was helpless to look away. I came to understand in that moment that he wanted me in a way I was entirely unfamiliar with. Every man who wanted me before had wanted me for what I could do, for what I could give him. Instead, Geralt was focused entirely on what he was giving to me, looking at me like I was the most important thing he had ever seen.

Even with such wonderful sensations coursing through my body, all I could focus on was the question burning into my skull: could he ever need me as much as I needed him?

I had so much I wanted to say, but I was paralyzed under his grasp. With him staring at me, I felt compelled to resist the parts of my brain begging for him, telling him everything I wanted. Yet, with him staring at me, I also thought maybe he could see those parts of my brain anyways.

Of course I would’ve been happy to let him finish me off, but on my own thigh I could just barely feel his erection brushing against me and my mouth was watering as a result. I reached for his trousers and either he knew what I wanted or he was just reacting in shock, because his grip on me relaxed enough for me to kneel in front of him. He made the most delicious noise as I pulled his cock out: damn, it wasn’t even half-hard and it was still big enough to take my whole hand to wrap around. I wasted no time putting the head between my lips, delicately massaging him with my tongue. I felt like I had been deprived of him for so long, that I needed to savor every bit of it while I could. It’s what past me would’ve wanted present me to do. 

I tried to fit him all the way down my throat before he got fully hard, since it would probably have been easier, but I struggled without enough preamble to warm everything up. Not that I minded gagging on it, because that was wonderful in an entirely different way. I felt his hand rest on my head, not forcing me to take him any deeper, just lightly brushing through my hair. I could tell he was probably staring down at me, but at this angle I couldn’t easily look back at him. Regardless, I felt my own erection flex at the idea of him watching me intently, my body aching for touch but my mind satisfied just from this. I could feel him getting harder, and I struggled to decide between the whole “savor it” philosophy and my interest in getting him to come as quickly as possible just to assert dominance in my own way.

He hissed through his teeth when I finally managed to get him all down my throat, and I decided the second one sounded like more fun. I used both my hands to supplement what I couldn’t always accommodate, steadily increasing my pace. He was moaning with each bob of my head, and I was moaning around him, and at this rate I was afraid to come before he did. But to be fair, I couldn’t be _that_ afraid to come because I was also excited to come because I really, really needed to come.

In the exact moment I found myself wishing that Geralt was more talkative, just so that I could appreciate that voice while I did this, I heard him moan ever so softly:

“Fuck.”

I was thankful that the sound I made as I came was muffled by a cock down my throat because it surely would’ve been embarrassing. Then again, I just came all over the floor without even being touched so maybe I had a sort of flexible idea of embarrassment. Either way, it was certainly an ego boost when Geralt pulled my hair and held me down on him as he came. He was so deep inside me that I couldn’t even taste it, but I could certainly feel the muscles inside him pulsing against my tongue. 

I only pulled back because I wanted to look up at him as he came for me. I was glad I did, because his face was lost in pleasure in a way I’d never seen it before and hoped to see it many, many more times in my life. 

He let out a deep sigh, of relief and not frustration like I was used to hearing from him. I swallowed the small amount of his orgasm left on my tongue and awkwardly fumbled my weakening erection back into my trousers.

“You came on the floor?” Geralt asked as I stood up.

“I didn’t harass you about it the time you did the same,” I remembered, starting to walk towards my own bed.

I felt his hand grab my wrist, pulling me into him.

“Sleep in my bed tonight,” he requested. I looked into his eyes for a moment but then avoided his gaze, feeling a bit overexposed suddenly.

“I’d hog the sheets,” I deflected.

“I don’t mind,” he answered, his eyes moving from mine to my lips. If I didn’t know any better I’d think he wanted to kiss me, even knowing what I’d just done with my mouth.

“All right,” I acquiesced, “but I’m not making you breakfast in the morning.”

“I’d rather die in my sleep than eat your gruel,” he shuddered, and I laughed because I was comfortable, and then I stopped laughing because it almost felt weird to feel comfortable after sex like this. I guess that’s the benefit of getting off with friends!

After I had my bath he was all over me, pulling me into bed and dragging me into a cuddle. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done this, and I was almost entirely sure I’d never fallen asleep like this. He draped an arm over me lazily, and I appreciated the warmth his body provided as it lay next to mine. It probably would’ve been more comfortable if I put my leg over his, or nuzzled my face into his neck, but whenever I considered doing it, I felt like it required more bravery than I had. Which is peculiar because it doesn’t sound that difficult or important, but trust me, at the time it felt really important.

As he turned away for the night, I wanted to run my hands through his hair again but decided to let him get to sleep. I could just make up an excuse to braid his hair in the morning, but for now, I needed to get to sleep and indulge myself in this moment. Falling asleep next to Geralt made me feel like an entirely different person than I thought of myself as, but so far, I was enjoying being this new person. And maybe Geralt would enjoy the new person I was turning into.


	5. A Rude Awakening (emotionally) and a Wonderful Awakening (sexually and also just literally)

I woke up with him wrapped around me, his thick arms pulling me closer as his face brushed against the back of my head. His heavy breaths blowing on my scalp made everything all tingly and sensitive, which mixed beautifully with my morning arousal to make me way too horny for having just woken up. I blushed remembering the night before, trying to process how unique it all felt. Moreso than just that Geralt was a witcher, or that he was by far the most endowed of anyone I’d had previous, this was clearly an entirely different situation than I’d ever been in before. I tried to slip out from under his grip without waking him, but I should’ve known that I couldn’t sneak past a witcher’s senses. He tightened his grip around me, nuzzling his face into my neck with a contended hum. I whimpered, and that must’ve pulled him from the haze of sleep because he seemed to very deliberately drag his nose along the nape of my neck, as if he knew that it would make my back arch as shivers shoot down my spine.

“You’re sensitive here,” he observed, his voice croaky from sleep. I just nodded, knowing he could feel it even if his eyes weren’t open.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he asked quietly. I was so used to people saying that as mainly a rhetorical question, just to hear me say it: Melitele knows I’d done the same to plenty as well. He seemed to be genuinely asking, though, which was… odd, in a way.

“Yes,” I whispered in reply, my voice hoarse from the morning as well. I had assumed that he had meant “touch” in a very euphemistic way, expecting him to just give me a nice little reacharound to start the day, but apparently he had meant it literally, as all he did was run his fingers across my skin, reaching under my pyjamas and delicately exploring basically all of me. I shuddered as his fingers traced along my ribs, and I even had to bite my lip to keep from moaning when he trailed along my thighs and hips. Suddenly, his hand reached up and guided my face back, turning me to face him. With him on his side and me on my back, he was so close- I mean, we’d been close this whole time, but now I was looking at his face and it was probably closer than I’d ever seen his face before.

“You don’t need to keep quiet,” he soothed, his hand still on my cheek, his thumb rubbing along my jaw and chin just a bit. “I want to hear you,” he encouraged.

“O-okay,” I replied weakly.

He looked down at me, and I was once again stuck in that trap where looking directly into his eyes felt like staring at the sun, but looking away felt like giving up, like disappointing him. He kept the eye contact as his hand trailed down, quickly pushing aside any sheets or clothing in its way to wrap around my cock. I groaned at the touch, and he ever so slowly started to pull along the length. He was savoring every movement, and watching my face as he did it. I tried to do what he had asked- not hold back and let him hear me- but it was difficult. My instincts told me to hide anything that I still could from him, so I had to ignore those as best as I could manage.

After a while he rolled up so that he was above me on all fours, the positioning of his body keeping me caged in and his silvery hair falling in a waterfall of grey beside my face. My heart started beating faster when I realized how easy it would be for him to kiss me.

Why did the idea that he might kiss me make me so nervous? For some reason, even after everything we’d already done, I got the feeling that kissing was the thing our friendship couldn’t come back from. Like, if it all ended now, we could just go “well hey, what’s some dick-sucking between friends?” and let it be, but if he kissed me then we could never really live that down. At least, _I_ couldn’t live it down. I wouldn’t be able to forget it.

Thankfully, he didn’t, just staying in the same place. What did change was that he started to rub his groin against my thigh, and I could feel his incredible hard cock through the fabric. He started to align the timing of his hand moving on me with his thrusts against my thigh, adding to the feeling that this was some kind of pantomime of sex which made me want the real thing all the more. He continued at a painfully slow pace, leaning down to begin another focused assault on my neck, and I could just imagine how it would feel to have him sliding in and out of me like this, being able to feel every detail of him inside me...

“Oh, I wish you’d just fuck me!” I exclaimed. Call me what you want, but my patience had run thin.

He growled against my neck, leaving little bites and kisses there which made my back arch and my cock flex in his grip. He pulled back to look down at me, just hovering there and contemplating for a while: I bored of that pretty quickly, desperate for him.

“Fuck me, please,” I requested quietly, letting him have a peek at the innocent, submissive Jaskier that I hoped could push him over the edge so he would have to give me what I wanted.

As he looked down at me, I saw the need in his eyes; he was breathing so fast and heavy, it was basically panting. I waited for a moment but he just looked at me, and I looked back, and just as I thought he was about to get it all over with, he sighed.

“I can’t,” he grumbled, climbing off of me and standing beside the bed, facing away and staring at the wall even though there was nothing of interest there.

“Hey, it happens to older guys sometimes,” I shrugged. I almost expected him to grab me or punch me or yell at me but he just scoffed, and he sounded hurt. It did way more to make me feel guilty for what I’d said than any of the other things would have.

“You’re so cruel sometimes,” he responded quietly.

“I was just trying to lighten the mood,” I defended.

“Sometimes the mood is supposed to be… heavy,” he explained, turning back to me.

I didn’t say anything. I hadn’t realized before how scared I was of heavy moods.

“I can’t fuck you,” he continued, “because it would kill me to, when I can’t have you to myself.”

I swallowed dryly. I hadn’t even really ever thought about being with just one person at a time. No one had ever asked me for that sort of dedication, and it always seemed inherently worse. Who would want less of something wonderful? But now I was in a pickle, because only Geralt, all of Geralt, was something so much more wonderful than a little piece of anyone who would give it away. 

“I don’t want anyone else,” I admitted, shocked to hear it even from my own mouth.

He didn't respond at first, cause he's an asshole like that.

"Not just right now but...overall," I added. He looked at me and his eyes were so dark, and I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath in anticipation of his response until he was coming back into the bed, wrapping himself around me, kissing my neck some more (damn couldn’t he think of anything else to do?) and growling against my skin.

“Say that again,” he commanded, reaching down to grab a handful of my arse.

“I don’t want anyone else,” I repeated, “just you. I only want you. Please.”

“You have salve in your bag?” he presumed.

“Y-yes, just by the nightstand.” I pointed down to where my bag was and he grabbed it, rifling through it until he found the phial: mostly empty, which I hoped wouldn’t turn him off having to acknowledge that I got a lot of use out of it already.

He pulled out the cork with his teeth, spitting it across the room. I moaned a little at the sight of that. He dumped the contents onto his hand and used the other to spread my legs, massaging the lotion around my entrance. I had never felt so self-conscious, although my fears washed away as he started to sink lower. I gasped when I realized what he was about to do.

“You- you don’t have to do that,” I rushed, so afraid to impose on him.

“I want to,” he explained in a low voice, “it’s only fair.”

“All right,” I replied, not one to argue too much over something like that.

Just seeing my cock near his face like that was so peculiar, but wonderful, of course. He took it in his hand and experimentally licked it. I tried not to moan too loud over something so simple, but I didn’t have much of a choice anyhow. He took the head in his mouth and I could’ve died right then. He was so warm, so welcoming, really the opposite of what he normally used his mouth for. He couldn’t take me completely- hey, not everyone has my talents, and it’s probably better that way- but he filled in the uncovered space with his hand which was gripping me nearly too tight and making my head spin. 

“Geralt,” I whimpered, not really having any purpose to say it, just sort of reminding myself that he was the one doing this to me. It seemed to encourage him, his pace picking up a bit just as I felt a finger press against my hole. I tried to relax as it entered me, which was easier said than done with his tongue making me want to tense up and curl my toes. 

“More,” I whispered a plea, and he obeyed, moving his finger in to the last knuckle and even beginning to breach a second. He let out a little noise, muffled by my cock- Gods, what a wonderful situation to be in. 

He didn’t put both his fingers in all the way at first: and thank Melitele because those suckers were thick! I could feel that he was waiting for me to adjust, not that I was really able to focus on that as he bobbed faster and sucked harder on the tip.

Seeing him with a dick in his mouth was so erotic, even if it also made no sense at all in my brain. I sort of hoped that he had never done this before, that I was only one he’d taken this way. He was pretty good at it for a first-timer, if that were true, but between beginner’s luck and getting some lessons from the best (me, obviously) it all added up.

In fact, maybe I had taught him _too_ well, because I didn't want to come yet but I was already heading down that path.

"I want you inside me," I sighed, and I felt him hum around me. He didn't stop instantly but soon he pulled off, that wonderful _pop_ sound making me shiver for a moment. He looked up at me but continued plowing his fingers into me, twisting them to coat insides with salve.

Soon he sat up and began to run his length along my hole; as hot as it was, I almost wished for him to stop teasing me just to prevent me from becoming fearful… I'd almost forgotten how massive he was, and let me tell you, my mouth is a lot bigger than my anus.

Just as I couldn't take any more he pressed into me. Most of the head went in easily from the preparative fingering, but after that little dip I needed to take a slow breath to process it all. I heard Geralt moan and it gave me the strength to take more, the idea of pleasing him superceding my pain.

He pushed in again and I whimpered but I knew I could handle it. It was the next one where my defenses started to fall apart, crying out for more, and yet less, all at once internallly.

He stretched me further than I had realized I was capable of; it felt like some test of my willpower, reaching my physical and mental limits.

“Can you take it?” he asked, and again, it didn’t feel like a power-trip or show of dominance, but a true question, his voice tinted with concern. I nodded, though I felt beads of sweat forming at my brow. He pushed in a little deeper, but I was still able to relax through the stress, mainly because of the fingers comfortingly rubbing my thigh.

"Halfway there," he soothed.

"Halfway?! Oh, fuck," I groaned, tossing my head back

"You're sure you're alright?" he asked nervously.

"I want this so bad," I whined.

"That's not what I asked," he frowned.

"Please don't stop, Geralt," I requested, looking up at him and admiring his determined expression. He didn't say anything, but looking into his eyes as he pulled out most of the way only to thrust back in even deeper was a thrill unlike any other. I let out a stuttered gasp, rolling my hips so he would hit _that_ spot and I was instantly moaning. He figured out the pattern and his next movement deeper hit my prostate straight on, hard.

"Fuck!" I yelled out, mostly unintentionally.

"More?" he asked hesitantly.

"Please, yes," I begged. He obliged and I felt arousal shoot through my cock until it started to leak. I wasn't confident that I'd ever been this hard just from being entered, but then again, I'd never been entered like this.

"You're incredible," he moaned as he buried himself to the hilt, even pressing himself deeper until I felt his hips grinding against my arse cheeks. My mouth opened for a moan but it ended up silent, and I internally wondered if I was muted by him so deep inside me that he was hitting my throat from the back. That was almost what it felt like, anyway.

He started to move and I was seeing stars, in the best possible way.

"Yes," I hissed, and he gained speed just a little.

Once he was able to set a consistent pace, I was already getting cocky (pun not intended but not necessarily unwanted).

“Oh, baby,” I moaned, thinking he was probably the type to enjoy pet names and the like. He growled and pulled me closer, and at first I figured that meant I was right and he was expressing his arousal, but I learned quickly that I couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Stop trying to be who you think I want,” he commanded against my ear. “I just want you. I just want Julian.”

I felt a tear roll down my cheek and I hadn’t even realized I was at risk of crying. I had none of the other symptoms of emotions: no runny nose, quivering lip, or red and burning eyes. Tears fell seemingly on their own, without any motivation, as I contemplated what he had said. 

Being Jaskier meant being popular, and being protected. No one could hurt me if no one knew who I really was, that was the name of the game. I had lost sight entirely of Julian at some point, and only now did I realize it. I knew what Jaskier would do in this moment: he’d be sexy, he’d be coy, he’d bite his lip and make sultry eyes and say something filthy because it made him feel powerful and wanted and valuable in some way. Jaskier would be internally worrying about how he looked and sounded and felt, constantly terrified that it wouldn’t be enough. Jaskier would be eager to please and ready to perform, the whole ordeal all a show, just like everything else is.

I didn’t even know what Julian would do. But what I did know was that whoever was holding the reins right now looked at Geralt and wanted to kiss him. So I did. He stopped fucking me for a moment and just held me, wrapped his arms around me and accepted my kiss. He didn’t try to take control, only patiently matching my somewhat delicate approach. Everything we’d already done and this was our first kiss... clearly we messed up the order of things a little bit.

I hadn't even really noticed when he began to move inside me again, slow and deliberate, so slow in fact that I would've expected myself to be impatient. And yet I wasn’t, because this was unexpectedly satisfying. There was a sense of trust behind it all: I knew he would take care of me, regardless of anything else.

He lifted me up so that I straddled him as he sat on his feet, which made it feel more like a hug that just so happened to also be during sex. It was intimate, even passionate… sensual? Unlike anything I’d ever done before, and all through it, the kiss never really stopped. One hand held me up by bracing my back, while the other wove into my hair, pushing my face closer into his. 

I had had orgasms before that made me want to scream or cry or rip some bedsheets. I'd had some that came out of nowhere, ripped from me as if they were being stolen, being forced through brutality. This time, when I came, I felt like I was giving some part of myself to him, willingly. It wasn't sharp or hard but soft and slow. That's not to say it lacked intensity, I'd go so far as to say it was the most intense thing I'd ever experience. I was crying, but I wasn't sad, just overwhelmed- and yet I felt entirely safe, completely aware that I would be alright as long as Geralt was here, and he was here. He was so entirely here, and as he held me closer and pulled me into one more kiss, I knew he would stay here as long as I needed. I felt a hand on my thigh squeezing, not too hard, but hard enough that I figured he had found his own release as well and I felt honored to have been there for it, to have facilitated it. My sense of reality was sort of lost but I heard myself whispering to him as the kiss ended, or maybe in the middle of it, but either way I know that I told him the truth.

"I love you," I told him, and I kept repeating it: "I love you, I love you."

"Shhh," he soothed, "I know."

I felt the soft sheets on my back as he laid me down, his hands embracing my face which was wet from tears.

"Stay," I requested, even though I didn't think he would leave. I just needed to know he was there.

"Of course," he replied.

And we laid there, for a long time, just holding each other. I had never really been comfortable with silence and this was my first time really appreciating it. I had nothing to say because I had no doubts to reassure, for once. 

“Beautiful,” Geralt mumbled as he kissed up and down my chest. I wasn’t sure anyone had ever called me that before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well an all smut chapter ended up being pretty emotional. Oops.


	6. Counting the Ways to Say 'I Love You'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the producers of angst and the director of feelings porn... Coming soon to a chapter near you... Angst Porn

_ I don’t really do ‘boyfriends,’  _ I kept repeating to myself in my head. 

“We should do this again sometime,” Geralt suggested with a smile, pulling me into being his little spoon yet again.

_ I don’t do ‘boyfriends,’  _ I chanted internally,  _ I don’t do ‘boyfriends.’ I don’t do ‘girlfriends’ either but I really don’t do ‘boyfriends.’ _

“In fact, I’m wondering why we haven’t been doing this the whole time,” he added, placing the lightest bite on my neck.

_ I love him. I love him. I’m in love with him. _

“You’re… unexpectedly quiet,” he observed aloud.

“I thought you would appreciate it,” I countered.

“I thought I would, too,” he replied, the implied  _ but I don’t  _ hanging in the air uncomfortably.

“I suppose I’m just new to all this,” I decided after a beat.

“New to fucking men?” Geralt clarified. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, gods no.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’d thought,” he said, but thankfully he didn’t sound hurt by it. In fact he seemed weirdly alright with it, as if he was already sure that my slutty days were behind me or something. I started to feel very unlike myself. It made me feel cold and confused.

“I meant new to- er-” damn, how could I have said it so easily before?

“To being in love with people?” he finished. I swallowed dryly.

“Erm, yeah, that,” I mumbled. I felt  _ really  _ unlike myself now. Shedding my old skin made me so… soft, and vulnerable.

"I guess I can't help you much there," Geralt sighed. 

I had somehow forgotten that the issue wasn't just that he didn't love me back, but that he couldn't. How could I have forgotten that?! Is it possible to put back on your old skin?

"I don't really do 'boyfriends,'" I blurted out, a weak attempt at self-preservation.

"Do you want to?" Geralt asked, but I had no idea what the answer was. The way he said it didn't make it seem like an offer like when people say "do you want to get something to eat?" but it didn't sound judgmental either like when people say "do you  _ want _ to die?" (and he's probably said both of these things to me more than a few times). 

"I think I have the same problem you do," I considered, turning around so that we were facing each other, even though it made everything so much more difficult. "I don't think I'm ever going to have you to myself."

I looked up at him but his expression was blank. As always. 

"What do you want?" He asked me after a moment.

I didn't want to ask him to give me everything, to ditch everyone else and be mine. I just wanted him to give these things to me willingly. And I knew that was an unreasonable expectation. 

"I wish it were so simple, to just get what I want," I scoffed.

"I can't give you what you don't ask for," he replied grimly.

"You can never give me what I want," I finally resigned.

The air was still for a moment, more silent than before. I let myself sink into his arms, and live the fantasy that this didn’t have to be temporary. 

~

The energy between us had been… uncomfortable for the past week, to say the least. Having to share a tent with him was really what made it obvious something had gone horribly wrong. He’d reverted from the affectionate version of himself back to being cold and distant and stoic. I didn’t want to bug him anymore, I didn’t want to ask him for anything, so I just went to sleep without saying anything. 

I woke up and was immediately aware that he was gone, the spot beside me still curved and warm from where he’d been. I heard movement outside and dashed through the opening in the canvas to find Geralt dressed and packing his things onto Roach.

“Where the fuck are you going?” I asked, my voice sounding weird since I’d only woken up a few seconds previous.

“I should’ve never- we shouldn’t have-” he began.

“Is this your break-up speech? You getting on a horse and fucking leaving?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he frowned. I could tell he was upset that I called Roach ‘a horse.’

“Then get back in bed!” I threw my arms in the air in confusion.

“I don’t want to hurt you at all, but I’d rather hurt you now, than ruin you later,” he clarified.

“Don’t give yourself so much credit,” I rolled my eyes.

“People I care about get hurt. And about 99% of the time, it’s my fault,” he growled, getting up onto Roach.

I scoffed, but didn’t know what to say. He looked ready to leave, but didn’t shake the reins to make her go yet, for some reason.

“Why don’t you want me?” I asked him, finally. He looked down at me with wide eyes, angry eyes.

“Is that what you think my issue is? Not wanting you?”

I crossed my arms. “Yeah, that’s really the only way to explain it.”

“Can’t think of any more creative possibilities?” 

“Not at the moment.”

“How about I want you but you want everybody else?” he suggested.

“Not like you’re Mr. Fidelity or anything, Geralt,” I huffed.

“How about I want you but I don’t want to hurt you?”

“Not wanting me is what hurts me,” I explained.

“You hurt yourself, Jaskier, by deciding that you’re not enough for me,”

“As if I could ever possibly be,”

“You are,” he refuted, and my breath hitched.

I still thought he was wrong, that he would tire of me soon, but I wanted to believe it, so I acted as if I did.

“Then stay,” I whispered.

“No,” he replied plainly.

“Geralt, what the fuck is your problem?” I yelled out. I kept yelling but he talked over me.

“It’s me that’s not enough for you,” he explained.   
“Bullshit,” I scoffed.

He let out a deep sigh. “I can’t love you back, Jaskier.”

I looked away, at this point hoping only to preserve a little dignity by not crying in front of him.

“I know,” I replied quickly.

“It’s not fair to you. I should leave you be,” he decided.

“And how is  _ that  _ fair to me?”

“I can’t give you what you want,” he reiterated. I know it was me who said that first, but with the threat of him leaving on the table, I changed my mind.

“I want you to stay. So, stay,” I demanded.

“I wouldn’t feel right about it,” he frowned.

“Do you want to be with me?” I asked, not sure even myself if I was referring to right now or something more permanent.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Then do it. Stay.” The whole ‘not crying’ plan was starting to fall apart. 

“I can’t-” he began.

“Please,” I whispered shakily. Remember 20 seconds ago when I wanted to, what was it again, preserve a little dignity? Ha.

He dismounted Roach, and pulled me into an embrace. A hug had never hurt so much, because it was all a lie. I’d lived a lie before, though, and I figured I could do it again.

“Go if you want. But before you go, make love to me,” I pleaded.

“Alright,” he agreed, like he was doing me a favor.

We stumbled back into the tent, his body draping over mine when we hit the bedroll. We made quick work of each other’s clothes, though I stopped being productive once he’d gotten my trousers off just enough to stroke me, which he did.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

“Louder,” he demanded, his grip on me tightening. I almost wanted to quiet down just to spite him, but his touch was just the right amount of rough and he started to kiss my neck and instead my lips were spilling moans and whimpers.

“Say that you’re mine,” Geralt demanded.

“Yours, Geralt, I’m all yours,” I sobbed. That was the kicker, wasn’t it? That I belonged to him but he was free.

“What do I have to do to make you say you love me again?” he asked, his voice deep, his words rumbling through me.

“A lot more than that,” I smiled, but of course my cockiness didn’t last long because clearly he was determined to give me the ‘a lot more’ I asked for. 

He flipped me over on the bedroll, and it made me dizzy to know he could lift me, manhandle me, so easily. He growled as he grabbed my hips, pulling them up until I was on my knees, my chest and face pressed down against the scratchy sheets.

“So pretty,” he praised, “so beautiful.”

I realized how different ‘pretty’ and ‘beautiful’ are, in that moment.

His fingers rubbed just the outside of my hole, and I whimpered, pressing back against him. He took the hint and pressed them into me, thankfully, but still took the time to torture me with his words.

“You want me so badly,” he so cruelly reminded me.

“Yes, please, Geralt,” I choked.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” I hissed.

“I know,” he replied, “I want to fuck you, too. I want to make love to you, so greatly.”

“Please, I’m ready,” I whined.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

_ That ship has sailed, _ I wanted to say.

“I want it to hurt,” I said instead. They sort of meant the same thing anyhow.

“No you don’t,” he denied incredulously.

“Don’t tell me what I want: fuck me,” I demanded.

“But I do know what you want,” he smiled- I knew because his entire voice sounded different when he was smiling- “you want it tender, and gentle.”

He started to kiss along my sides and my back as he said it, as if I wasn’t laying there stripped with my ass in the air.

“Sweet.  _ Wholesome, _ ” he continued, and it felt like he was mocking me.

“Fuck me? Fuck you,” I growled, sitting up and pushing him off of me. As fast as I could pull up my trousers I was dashing out of the tent, storming off, being dramatic- the usual.

“Jaskier,” he started to call out to me, even when speaking loudly his voice so ashy and grim.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” I begged, wiping the tears from my face angrily. I could hear him coming closer but I wouldn’t look back.

“Julian, please-” he began.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever been so angry and sad simultaneously; it was a weird mix. “Don’t  _ fucking  _ call me that.”

“You’re so afraid of yourself,” he chuckled.

“Don’t laugh at me,” I frowned.

“Don’t run away from me,” he countered.

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Are you fucking serious? You just tried to leave me here! Less than twenty minutes ago! And you’re accusing me of being scared, of running away?”

“I’m trying to keep you safe!” he defended.

“From you?”

“Yes!” he answered like it was obvious.

“Or are you trying to keep yourself safe? From your feelings?”

“You’re in love with me,” he said, apparently just wanting to remind me.

“But I’m not the one trying to control you,” I observed.

“You just begged me to stay! To make love to you!”

“You told me you couldn’t sleep with me unless you knew that I wouldn’t be with anyone else! But you’re still going to see other people, and you’re still going to get yourself entangled with every dramatic person who makes your life hell, and you’re-”

He grabbed me and he kissed me and it was so different. I expected anger but there wasn’t any, it was intense but it was soft. Sweet. Like he knew I wanted.

“I just want you,” he whispered against my lips, “I only want you.”

“I can’t be enough for you,” I replied, a little shocked. 

“You’re everything, Julian,” he growled. “Fuck. You’re the only thing.”

“Stop lying to me,” I whimpered.

“Tell me you love me again, and I’ll never leave. I swear, I’ll never leave even just to hear it one more time,” he begged. I’d never seen him beg like that. He really needed it, I could’ve even sworn there were tears in the corners of his eyes as he stared down at me.

“Geralt, you know-” I began.

“But say it,” he demanded.

“I love you,” I said, and it was so much harder to say in the cold light of the morning, looking him right in the eye; to say it entirely on purpose. The tears came back, tenfold. “Gods, Geralt, I love you. I’ve never said that to anyone before, did you know that? I don’t even say it to my own family as much as I should. Geralt, I’m in love with you, please, please don’t go.”

He kissed me again, stronger but still gentle. He only stopped to kiss my tears away, and I was so full of hate for myself, so sick of denial and shame and trying to keep my cool, and it felt like he was kissing all of that away, too.

“So beautiful,” he whispered against my cheek, his hands weaving into my hair. 

“Say that you won’t leave,” I requested quietly.

“Never, I swear, Julian, I’m so sorry,” he rushed, “I just want you to be okay.” 

“This is okay,” I smiled.

“Forgive me,” he pleaded.

“Of course,” I said, but I wasn’t sure he believed me. I pulled him away from kissing me, and made him look me in the eyes. “Of course,” I repeated, looking right at him.

“I’m yours, Julian,” he whispered, and I could tell it wasn’t easy for him to say. I couldn’t judge him for being scared, being so terrified myself. 

“Say it again,” I demanded despite my alleged sympathy. He’d put me through enough, I deserved it.

“I’m yours,” he repeated, “I just want to be yours.”

“Mine,” I whispered in reverence, using my fingers to comb through the lock of silvery hair that had fallen in front of his face. 

We kissed again and we were moving back into the tent, but it was an entirely different feeling from the last time. No desperation, no rush… because there was no time limit anymore. We could just be together. It was so simple for two people who wanted to be together to be together- why was it so fucking complicated before?

I pushed him onto his back so I could straddle him, happily wrapping myself around him as tightly as I could manage.

After a moment, I started to move down, and he must’ve known exactly what I had on my mind.

“Don’t do that,” he told me, pulling me back up until we were face-to-face again.

“I want to, it’s fine,” I explained.

“Do you like doing that because you actually like it? Or because you like making other people feel good?”

I hadn’t thought about it that way before. I was pretty sure it wasn’t all the second one, but it was less of the first one than maybe I had realized.

“I want this to be about you,” he explained, “you need someone to properly care for you.”

I didn’t mind that idea, but the last person I thought to do it would be Geralt. The first person I wanted to do it, of course, but the last person I expected.

“I want to ride you,” he said suddenly, and I made a sound that I couldn’t describe. “I want to feel you inside me.”

“Oh, er, okay,” I agreed.

“I’ve never... no one has...” he started to say.

“Has no one ever done that to you before?” I prompted.

“Yes, that,” he nodded.

I shivered. “You’re sure you want to try it?”

“You seem to have a good time,” he grinned. I pulled him back into the kiss, trying not to smile too hard against him. I like bottoming just as much as topping, so on paper it was all the same, but I was really getting off on the knowledge that he wanted me to do something he’d never done before, that he trusted me with something like that. 

“I’ll make it so good for you, I promise,” I told him, leaving little kisses down his neck. 

“I know,” he agreed.

We were kissing for a while before I started to move my hands down, run them along the various _ridiculously_ firm, chiseled angles of his body. Him being so eager, he even let his legs spread a bit as I rubbed his thigh, so I had him take his trousers off while I grabbed the oil from where it has been discarded so recently and coated my hand in it. I used the slick hand to stroke him a bit, and I could tell he wanted more, but I decided it was best to start with what he already knew. Finally, as he started to moan against my lips ever so slightly, I slid my fingers down until I felt his entrance beneath my calloused fingertips. He let out this strangled little noise and I wondered if he’d even been touched here at all before.

I massaged it a little, but I had to get him to lift his legs a bit to be able to do much more. As I started to press one finger inside of him, he moaned, properly, in a way that felt very different from his other moans.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” I smiled.

“It’s so good,” he replied instead. That made my cock wish it could get harder than “completely hard” which it turns out is indeed the maximum.

When I pressed the second finger inside, he stretched his hands above his head which really brought out the enormousness of his arms, and I felt like I was looking at a painting or marble statue or something, but better. 

“You look so beautiful like this,” I decided to announce.

“With my legs spread like a whore?” he asked with a grin.

“I mean, yeah, but also just… generally,” I clarified.

He smiled; he’d already been smiling, but this smile was different. He couldn’t blush, but he seemed like he would be if he could. He gasped a little when I twisted my fingers.

“Feels good?” I checked in.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I understand why you like this.”

“I’m better at it than you are,” I teased.   
“Really?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, you’re still really good at it,” I explained, “but I have an easier time finding  _ this _ .” As I said it I pressed against his spot, not hard, but just enough to let him know it was there. He bucked against my touch just a little, and I rubbed it with waxing and waning intensity for a minute.

“I understand why you beg so much,” he breathed.

“The second you’re satisfied, you want more,” I smiled.

“Exactly,” he sighed.

“You want more?” I asked rhetorically.

“I want you,” he moaned.

“Soon,” I promised, and inserted a third finger. His back arched, which threw off my angle, so I had to use my other hand to push his hips down so I could hit the prostate more.

“Fuck,” he whimpered.

“I want you to be so stretched for me, so ready for me,” I cooed.

“Yes,” he agreed, but the way he was straining against my touch made it clear he was willing to not be so stretched if he could get me in him sooner. In a show of mercy, I slid out my fingers and laid on my back. He followed instantly, straddling me and looking down at me with those gorgeous golden eyes that made me melt.

I assumed that with him being on top, he’d take it at his own pace. He did, but I guess I assumed that his pace would be a lot more delicate. Instead, the second he was on me he slid down all the way and began grinding his body against mine.

“Fuck,” I mumbled, pulling him down by his neck so his chest would press against mine. That didn’t slow him down at all either, moving his hips and adjusting himself until I apparently hit just where he wanted me to.

“You feel good,” he whispered.

“Couldn’t possibly be as good as you feel around me right now,” I sighed.

His hands moved to my chest and his weight pinned me down. This only made him gyrate with more enthusiasm, and I was helpless to slow him down though I wanted to last a lot longer than I anticipated I was going to.

"Geralt, slow down," I breathlessly recommended.

"I'm close," he replied instead.

"Just from this?!"

"Yes, fuck, it feels so good," he moaned and that was it for me. I was spilling inside him, and letting out a much-too-loud noise as I did it.

"Julian," he choked, and I felt warmth dripping onto my stomach as he came. I could've cried with how beautiful it was, how beautiful all of it was: his little breathless moans, the feeling of him on top of me and pouring out onto my skin, the way he said my name…

"That was…" he began, but never finished, because I pulled him down into a kiss before he could do so properly. He got up and we both gasped from the sensation of pulling out. He fell back onto his side, sitting up a bit to look at me.

"Should I find a rag for that?" he asked, pointing to the puddle of cum on my gut.

"No, leave it, for now," I requested. He leaned over to kiss me and I felt his erection press against my thigh, big and hard as ever.

“You’re still hard,” I observed.

“You’re still stretched from earlier,” he added.

“You could fuck me, right now?” I asked in that 'just out of curiosity' way.

“Yeah, but I don’t think you’d be able to come again.”

“I’m willing to try,” I smiled.

He was kissing me again; his knees slid between mine and as he spread his legs, mine were pushed out and up as well. He held down my wrists above my head, and I felt so vulnerable in a way that I actually  _ enjoyed  _ for once. He pulled away for a moment to look down at me.

"So you haven't been converted to a lifetime of only bottoming?" I smirked.

"I'll take you however I can get you," he answered, a much more intimate and sensitive response than I was prepared for.

"I'll bet I can take you right now without being fingered again," I told him.

And I did. It wasn't much longer until he slid into me, though he didn't get very far before my hand flew up to his chest, thankfully causing him to slow down. He lifted the back of my knees and placed them on his shoulders, pushing back in just a little deeper. I felt this angle force him to thrust against my spot and I moaned a bunch of nastiness and blasphemy that I can't remember.

Once he was entirely inside me, I could see his composure cracking.

“Can you still feel my come leaking from inside of you?” I asked with a smile. He groaned, which I interpreted as a ‘yes.’ What a filthy, erotic concept, that he would fuck me while he was still wet and warm from being fucked himself.

“I fucking love you,” I laughed, and I watched his throat tense as he swallowed. I recognized he probably got off more on that than any actual dirty talk.  _ Holy shit,  _ I realized,  _ he’s into  _ clean  _ talk! _

He grabbed my length and I only then realized that I was hard, and so quickly. I wasn’t sure I could take so much, all this sensation when I’d come so recently, but here I was hard again and his hand was stroking me so slowly and I feared I would pass out.

“Geralt, fuck,” I moaned.

“You’re going to come,” he predicted.

“Yes, gods, fuck, yes,” I responded, mostly in disbelief, partially from pleasure.

“So beautiful,” he praised. “You look so wonderful right now.”

I assumed I looked ridiculous, eyes blown wide and biting my lip like my life depended on it. If orgasms are normally falling off the edge of a cliff, this was like crawling up the side of a mountain only to plunge off the side. Of course, much more enjoyable, but still tense and  _ in _ tense and fucking powerful.

“Please, don’t stop,” I begged.

“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” he smiled, pumping into me even faster.

“You’re mine,” I croaked out as I came, moans pouring out from somewhere deep within me as I splattered across my own chest.

“Yours,” he repeated, and I felt him coming as well, squeezing my shaft which was nearly painful but mostly just perfect.

He had the courtesy to collapse to the side of me, and not on top of me. Despite being sweaty and gross, I rolled over to drape myself onto his side and rest my head on his chest, which was still heaving.

“I haven’t felt this… worn out in quite some time,” he announced breathlessly.

“I haven’t come twice in a day since I was a teenager,” I chuckled.

We laid in silence for a while, just little hums and sighs and random kisses to random places.

“You said that you knew I loved you,” I remembered, running my fingers up and down his arm, which was draped over my waist. “Was that some kind of witchery mind reading?”

“No, it was just obvious.”

I frowned. “It’s not like I was saying it to you, I didn’t say it to anyone.”

“There are a lot of ways to say ‘I love you,’” he explained, “and you were saying all of them.”

I waited for more but he didn’t respond. “...Well?” I prompted. “What are they?”

“‘Let me help you.’ ‘I can braid your hair for you.’ ‘Come back,’” he listed. Sort of rude to just quote me, but alright.

“‘I wish you would consider my feelings,’” I quoted in reply.

“Your feelings about what?” he asked.

“No, I was quoting you,” I explained, turning to look at him. He was looking at me like I was crazy. “Geralt, you said that to me.”

He looked back to the ceiling.

“Hmm,” he replied after a moment.

“I wish we could lay here forever,” I hummed sleepily.

“Forever,” he repeated, like he was thinking about something.

~

“Come on, get up,” he shook me awake the next morning, and the first thing I noticed was how cold it was. It must have still been pretty early.

“Hm?” I mumbled sleepily.

“We’re heading out,” he said. What a simple thing to say, but it filled me with joy.  _ We.  _

“Where are we going?” I asked excitedly.

“We’re going to find some way to extend your lifespan, just in case I somehow survive another hundred years. If you don’t mind,” he announced, as if it were just an obvious thing to do.

“...we are?”

“I can’t lose you,” was all he said. I mentally jotted that down as another way to say ‘I love you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, forgive my semi-cliffhanger (??) ending, you're the best! Feel free to check out my tumblr, witcherwritings. xx love you all


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